


If These Wings Could Fly

by Peeta



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Grad student Peeta, Marshall University shenanigans, More tags probably coming soon!, Undergrad Katniss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3582621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peeta/pseuds/Peeta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a beer, before swiftly turning into a whirlwind one-night stand that Peeta could never have anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Roche 10,” he says smoothly, lifting his hand to get the bartender’s attention. The epically bearded man nods and pours another glass, keeping the head stiff and full. _Major tip coming his way_ , Peeta thinks happily.  
  
It’s right in the middle of a late happy hour the week before Fall resumes. Jake’s probably hasn’t seen this much action since Spring let out, but even that’s being generous. The place has maybe 15 people scattered around.  
  
The only reason he finds himself here is to nurse a headache coming on like a freight train. This year would be rough: being a teaching assistant is demanding in any respect, but having to do it for an incoming sophomore class would be tantamount to disastrous. These kids probably don’t know for sure what they want yet, and are just biding their time in the Physical Therapy program. The entrance exam was easy enough for him, anyway.  
  
As soon as his second dark beer is gone, he feels a push at his right as a laughing group of girls shoves their way into the quickly filling bar. Peeta’s brows raise curiously as he takes a look around. Huh. Must’ve happened without him noticing.  
  
“Sorry!” one of the girls says, another with dark hair rolling her eyes at her blonde friend and turning her back on him. His lips quirk and he shakes his head, calling for his last beer of the night before he plans to head off.

Campus is a short walk away, though luckily he’s being shacked up in decent off-campus housing thanks to his TA grant.  
  
He’s a little caught up in his own thoughts before he realises the group beside him have started whispering — _loudly_ , and is it just him, or is more than one pair of eyes darting in his direction? He gives a lopsided smile and lifts his glass in unspoken cheers, the thick brew sliding satisfyingly down his throat as his head tilts back. He gets up to hit the bathroom.  
  
Not a few minutes later, someone crashes into his chest on her way past.  
  
“Shit!” she grits out, her sloshing drink just missing her hunter green top.  
  
Both hands go out to steady her and he’s apologising before he can think about it. “Sorry, I didn’t see you. Everything dry?”  
  
She bobs her dark head a few times and looks up at him, a scowl marring her features. _Those eyes_ , though. They’re almost electric. Unnerving. Unsteadying, too, because they remind him —  
  
Peeta clears his throat and drops his hands, straightening up as he tries to slide past with a final apologetic phrase.  
  
Back at the bar, he calls the Bearded Glory over and settles his tab, then points out the girl and asks for her drink to be covered, too. She comes over and for a split second, he thinks she’s about to chew him out, but she turns into her group, the same one that’s pushed in to his right, and only gives him a side glance. Something about that look has his heart thumping a little too loudly in his ears.  
  
“Excuse me,” a soft voice says. Peeta looks up from tucking his wallet away. That same blonde who was giggling earlier.  
  
“Hi, sorry, just gonna clear out to give you some room.”  
  
Her hand shoots out as if to stop him. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant! My friend here just wants to thank you for the drink.” She calls someone over, and Peeta can’t help the smile. The brunette with the lovely scowl looks almost bashful.  
  
“Um, thanks. You didn’t need to do that,” she almost mutters, as though her friends are pulling her arm. For all he knows, they probably are.  
  
“Hey, it was my fault. Can I get you something else?” _What are you doing? You’re supposed to be leaving_ , he reminds himself.  
  
The girl looks like she’s thinking about it, and just as he opens his mouth to apologise for being presumptuous, she nods once. “Sure. What were you having?”  
  
“Rochefort 10. Kind of heavy, but it goes down smooth,” he regales, already calling the bartender over with two fingers held up. A couple of silent, awkward moments tick by as his back digs into the bar counter.  
  
His fingers drum the length of the scratched wood as the brunette looks everywhere but his face. He silently praises some higher power the second both drinks are placed by his hand.  
  
Passing one over to her, he smiles as her hand passes over his, leaving a cool feeling in their wake. Lifting his glass, he says, “Bottoms up,” and clinks with hers, finally drawing a smile from her.  
  
Getting into conversation with her is surprisingly easy after that. Mostly mundane things like the muggy weather and lamenting the coming of fall, but eventually they’re almost in each other’s faces from the crowding going on around them. Her group is nowhere to be seen, and if he’s honest, he couldn’t give two shits about them. His hand comes to rest at her waist the more her lips move, drawing him in like a magnet. The more they talk about the people around them, the closer he’s drawn to her, until he turns his head to press his lips right up against her ear.  
  
“Wanna get out of here?” His whisper strokes the delicate shell, causing her to shiver. Peeta cups her waist more firmly and gives her a warm smile. She merely nods and he’s quick to finish off his tab this time.  
  
A light breeze ruffles the blond wisps at his forehead, cooling down some of the heat that had built up in that sauna. It’s a little after 11 on a Friday night, if his watch isn’t lying; but based on the slightly blurred edges of the numbers, it could be _him_ who’s lying to himself. The tug at his arm brings him back to himself and he gives the brunette a grin while they walk away from the bar scene.  
  
There isn’t much conversation on the short walk. Then again, with the way she’s tucking herself closer into his side when they turn a corner, there won’t be much talking for the rest of the night.  
  
The keys are in the lock to the front gate and jangling a little tune as they turn in his door’s lock, clicking loudly in the dark hallway.  
  
The heavy wood thuds closed and his hand is already pulling her in, lips meeting like they’ve been waiting to do this all night. Her back rides up the smooth surface of the door as both hands find her waist and pull her in, their mouths parting and meeting again and again, breaths turning into pants and whimpers the longer they go on.  
  
She hooks a leg around his calf, bringing their hips together like a crash that starts them both on a downward spiral.  
  
Peeta’s hands tangle in her hair as his hips roll forward, dragging the most delicious moan from her throat. He breaks their kisses and lowers his mouth, peppering the soft skin of her neck with wet, sucking kisses, gradually going lower to draw her collar out of the way and suck on the hollow between her clavicles.  
  
Her hands find his lower back and stroke up, then down, down until her fingers find purchase around his ass. She squeezes and pulls, her palms so hot they practically burn through the thin layer of his black cotton slacks.

"Off," she mumbles against his lips, fingers dancing along the edge of his crisp leather belt. He drops a hand between them to help her fumbling and the metal clank of the buckle echoes in the quiet apartment.

His hands wind around her waist and he draws her against the solid mass of his chest, prompting her legs to wrap around his waist as their kisses continue. Even in the dark, navigating the open layout of the apartment is easy enough. He rests his hands on her shapely butt and they kiss like their lives depend on it. His tongue is just sucking on hers as he shoves his bedroom door open and shuts it with a foot.

"Off, off," she repeats herself, her hands pushing his light grey t-shirt up past his shoulders and closes in on the straining muscle she uncovers. Wet, sucking kisses fill the room, his own hands dropping her onto the edge of the bed to start on her capris and top. His slacks whisper darkly against the floor where they meet hers.

She's just in her bra and mismatched boyshorts, sitting atop his flannel covers like this is no big deal. _Thank you, Rochefort_ , he thinks with a grin.

Seconds later, his body is atop hers and their mouths meet in a series of open-mouthed kisses. Her backside drags them until her shoulders hit the headboard, whimpers and groans filling the empty spaces their kisses have created. She digs her heels into his hips and deftly peels his boxer briefs off with her nimble feet, her hands unclasping the front of her bra just as they're parting to take ragged, panting breaths.

"God, hurry up." Her voice is like dark wine trickling down his throat, raw and sticky sweet.

Peeta's fingers trace the edge of the thin white boyshorts, his eyes drifting up to lock onto hers. He sees an unspoken challenge and smiles into the dark, illuminated only by the half-full moon seeping past his window blinds. "Can I?" his voice murmurs, his index finger already tracing a teasing line up and down her inner thigh. She nods frantically and reaches for his shoulders, short nails digging into the muscle.

The warm wash of his breath on her thighs makes her sigh, molten grey eyes shutting the moment he lays chaste kisses on the juncture between her thigh and her centre. The light tickling of his fingers as they drag the sodden material off makes her flinch and gasp, goose bumps cropping up across her legs. His lips sooth the cool skin just millimetres away from where she wants them most.

"I _can't_ , just.." she whines and bucks her hips upwards, cursing the faint haze of alcohol still swirling through her veins. The sharp edge of embarrassment is dull enough to make her unashamed of her neediness.

He laughs against the trimmed curls. His wandering fingers cut her voice off in a strangled whimper, dipping into the moisture already dripping down her thighs, dragging upward to circle the shiny pink flesh he's dying to sink into. Her grip on his shoulders tightens when he pushes two fingers slowly into her, his other hand pressing her hips down. They pull back out and thrust in, stretching her out and drawing more of her juices out. She practically shrieks when his lips wrap around her clit, creating a beautiful suction and teasing with light nibbles that make her grip his hair.

"O-oh, oh god," she stutters, hips bucking and thrusting against his face. Peeta starts sucking harder.

Her fingers fall down to the sheets at her side, fisting them in tandem with each stroke of his tongue and faster, deeper thrust of his fingers. "Oh god oh god, right there." She's riding the climbing feeling, lips dry and bitten between moans. She's _so close_ , right there, just about to burst —

He **stops**. She curses and lets out a harsh breath, eyes fluttering open to watch him lift up and lick the tips of his fingers. "Mmm," he moans around his index finger, his smile pure sin.

Reaching into the night table beside her, his hand pulls out a gold foil square and before she can count to 5, the latex is stretched taut around his erection.

"I'd love to keep doing that, but I think you want more?" It's more of a statement than a question, because she reaches for his arms and squeezes onto his biceps, hips tilted up in invitation.

"If you don't get inside me right now, I swear I'll —" He's already there, sinking in about halfway and then pulling out, the head of his cock just teasing her sodden lips as she sucks in a breath. "There, yesss," she gasps and holds on tighter, urging him on.

Peeta holds himself up with his arms as he just dips in and pulls out, a little pool of her wetness dragging up and down her swollen labia, causing an electric spark to run through her as she frustratedly seeks him out with her hips. "Quit teasing and get in me, damnit!" she grits out, nails biting into his arms. His laughing mouth looks stupid and perfect at the same time.

"Is that an order, ma'am?" he quips. His lips meet hers before she can curse him out and then he's _there_ , pushing himself into her balls deep and settling there as her vagina quivers around him. Both legs wrap around his lower back to keep him close.

His tongue fucks her mouth just as his hips start doing the same, the steady, deep strokes of his cock stretching her out so thoroughly she's panting and groaning in want a few minutes in. Her back arches, her tight nipples rubbing against his chest, and she murmurs her approval into his mouth with each roll of his hips. He's swivelling into her, each thrust brushing up against that spot inside her that's making her see stars.

"You like that?" he asks against her lips. Her teeth nip his bottom lip and she nods, sucking on the pliant fullness. She sneaks a hand between them to touch her clit, but before she can get too far, his hand grabs hers and he draws her in by the waist, keeping her arm pinned to her side.

"Leave that to me," he whispers between kisses to her jaw, and then he's grinding his pubic bone hard against her clit with each pass. Her free hand scrambles against his sweaty shoulder to hold her steady, but he's already pulling out. "What?" she asks in bewilderment. Peeta takes the opportunity to lift her up and turn her around, instructing her to lift her bottom as he stuffs a pillow underneath her hips.

"Hang on tight, sweetheart," he purrs into her ear. His hand strokes up the shaft of his cock as he parts her folds from the back. A small pool of moisture leaks out and he spreads it around before slowly pushing himself back in, this angle offering a tighter hold on him that they both groan at.

Her slick walls start fluttering against him, urging his balls to tighten every time he thrusts back into her. _Ugh, so good, too soon_ , he chides himself. His hand clutches her waist for leverage as he reaches under her, stroking in tight circles as soon as he finds her clit. "Come on baby," his voice rasps amidst sloppy kisses to her shoulders, "come with me." She's sucking in breaths now, her hips lifting up rhythmically as his slam against her backside. Her high-pitched grunts mingle with his deeper ones until they're both panting for breath. He snaps his hips a dozen more times, rubbing tight and hard, and she's squeezing his cock so tight he can't help falling in right after her, the spasms of her walls dragging every last drop out of him.

"Gooooooddd," she drags the deity's name out, her face falling against a pillow as he settles most of his weight on her for a moment. When they catch their breaths, he pulls out of her and pushes himself up to sit. The tied off condom flies to the side of his bed and into his trash.

Peeta drops beside her on the bed, tucking her against his chest as she sighs contentedly and shuts her eyes.

His last thought before succumbing to the drowsy pull is, _She reminds me so much of_ **her**.

Monday morning rolls around much too early for his liking.

Peeta sets his athletic bag beside the desk, laying his briefcase open atop the podium to sort through a few notes before class begins. It's just creeping on 9am and the room is already about half-full. His curious blue gaze sweeps the mix of sullen, tired, and indifferent faces, his thoughts pumping him up for the first class of the new semester.

The slow tick of his wristwatch lets him know it's time, and he clears his throat with a smile.

"Good morning, everyone. Welcome to Intro to Physical Therapy. I'm Peeta Mellark, technically not your professor, but I'm the TA so you're getting a way better deal."

A snicker or two reaches his ears and he laughs internally at the stupid comment, but continues with that same smile. "Professor Abernathy is at your disposal for office hours and help with the material. His contact information can be found on the syllabus, which I hope everyone printed out?" At the low rumble of murmurs across the room, he pulls out a stack of syllabi and heads for the first row, handing them to a short cropped brunette who thanks him less than enthusiastically.

"It pays to be prepared, doesn't it? I'm not a hardass by nature, but I have to stress the importance of prep work in this class. You all took on a challenge passing that entrance exam and I'd really hate to see your tuition go to waste, so let's start with an intro to the PT field and the basics of what this class will entail."

He's back at the podium, clicking on the school computer and powering up the ceiling projector before his attention is drawn to the slam at the back of the room. An apologetic set of students file past the door, the very last stopping to stare at him for a moment prior to dropping heavily into a seat at the back.

It's _her_ , the girl from Friday, whom he thoroughly fucked into the mattress. His eyes drop to the attendance list and he scans, having only heard her friends call her "Kat" in passing. He's not entirely sure what he thought to expect, but the name _Katniss Everdeen_ stands out like a sore thumb, making the breath stick in his lungs and his eyes lift up to seek her out.

The puzzle pieces are just starting to fall into place, to his utter disbelief. Dark hair, quicksilver eyes that he could swear pierced into his soul, sharp tongue and brusque attitude. _Oh my god, what have I done._

Peeta manages to pull it together and clear his throat, starting up on the first slide that he'd prepared a week ago.

He tries hard to forget the taste of her on his lips, the feel of her wrapped entirely around him, the sounds of her panting voice as she encouraged him that night.

_Congratulations, Mellark, you fucked the girl of your dreams without even realising it was her._

He was so screwed if he managed to make it past the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's actually going through PT training and recognises how badly I'm probably butchering the process, my sincere apologies! I'm only familiar with forensic psychology and pathology, which are my areas of expertise, but they both require internships/residency of some sort, soooo let's just assume?

About ten minutes before the end of class, Peeta sends around the sign-in sheet, hoping it'll reach Katniss' back seat last. He's spent the past 40 minutes trying very hard not to make eye contact, but when students start gathering their things and look like they're waiting to spring the hell out of there, he catches himself searching out the back row.

Just as he'd hoped, she's hunched over, signing the sheet while other students shuffle past her. His hand is about to reach out for her when the sheet is thrust out towards him, her eyes darting anywhere but at him.

"Here. Have a good one, Mr Mellark," she rushes out as she hitches her bag over her shoulder.

A cold rushing feeling takes over and he darts a hand out, touching her forearm.

"Wait, I just wanted to say..."

He pauses until the last students trickle out, the slam of the door almost making him flinch. Like it's echoing his inner thoughts.

"I'm sorry, if I had known —"

She's already shaking her head and pulling her arm back as though she's been burned. "It's fine. If this weren't the only Intro class, I'd drop. Let's just... we can pretend nothing happened. Okay?"

The pleading look in her eyes almost undoes him. Something about her request seems off, like perhaps she's only saying what she thinks _he_ wants to hear. Or maybe he's delusional and letting hope swallow up common sense. That's the only explanation he can think of for what he says next.

"What if I don't want to pretend?"

The silence that follows is deafening. Her sharp gaze meets his and doesn't fall away for a long time. He swallows past the thick lump in his throat.

Katniss shakes her head then, dropping those infinite pools of mercury to stare at a scratch on her desk.

"I have to go," she whispers and abruptly turns. The slam echoes in his ears for the rest of the day.

Throughout the day, Peeta's nerves are on edge. The Intro class is the only one he has to TA for, but part of his grant is also helping out the sports teams, patching up the players and helping them make a full recovery when the injuries go beyond first aid.

"Mellark!" a familiar voice shouts, breaking his gaze from the twisted ankle he's tending to.

"Yeah, Coach?"

Plutarch Heavensbee's normally calm expression looks stressed, pinched at the edges. "Let someone else grab that. I need you for something else. Come on."

Calling over one of the PT assistants on staff, he jogs to catch up with Heavensbee.

"What can I help you with, Coach?"

Heavensbee looks him over as they're walking towards his office, the corner of his mouth going up in the beginnings of a smile. "You seem like the ambitious sort, so I'm entrusting you with this one."

They enter the glass-lined office and Heavensbee throws him a cold Smartwater from the cooler beside his desk.

"Here's the deal: by start of next season, I need to find some new PTA replacements for the big teams on campus, and since you're spearheading the Intro to PT class, I figured you're in a great position to single out some ambitious kids like yourself."

He lays it out like a gameplay, complete with a spreadsheet of PTA names and their positions on the teams. Who they've treated, how they treated them, and where they're projected to go next year. Heavensbee may be the coach in charge of basketball, but he pretty much runs the whole of the Thundering Herd intercollegiate teams. To be pulled in on something like this by the man is a pretty big deal.

Peeta takes a long pull of the water while he lets the request sink in. He never anticipated being more than a TA this semester alongside his final courses, with the occasional PT work on the side. This, though... this is sort of the chance of a lifetime. Only one thing stands out in his mind.

"What about Haymitch?" he asks almost quietly. His fingers drum on the table in a nervous habit he hasn't quite managed to rein in.

Heavensbee eyes him for a good minute, letting the young TA sweat a little in his seat. His mind is calculating. He projects a calm, somewhat subdued persona on the outside, but Peeta knows better. He's seen the man in action: his plays are _brutal_ , meant to set opposing teams at ease before a big shitstorm rolls out and Heavensbee stands behind the sidelines, smiling like it's his birthday. Each play adds a new twist that has the other coaches reeling. He's held onto his position for over a decade for a very good reason.

And now he's asking Peeta to possibly run Haymitch under the bus. Why didn't he see it before? Haymitch Abernathy may be lacking as a teacher, but Peeta suspects there's more to the story than he's been led to believe.

"What about him? The man is beyond his expiration date. You and I both know that. I'm just calling it like it is and asking you to step up," Heavensbee retorts, perfectly calmly, with a _something_ in his eyes that might be unnerving if Peeta weren't so set on his next move.

"All right. But don't think for a minute that I'm going to toss him aside that quickly. I still have a year until I go before the certification board, and even then, Haymitch has helped me a lot. If you can live with that knowledge, then I'm in."

Peeta sits straight in his chair, leaning forward as though he's ready to take on a challenge. This may be the biggest one of his career.

Heavensbee's fingers draw down his jaw for a moment. The two engage in a staring competition to see if either one will back down, but they're evenly matched. Heavensbee in his experience, Peeta in his determination.

With an exhale, Heavensbee drops his hand and nods. "Deal. Don't make me regret it, Mellark." His hand lifts and Peeta takes it without hesitation.

Wednesday morning rolls around like another freight train from hell. All of yesterday was spent devising his own gameplan for this thing Heavensbee pulled him into. Peeta knows he needs to keep a close eye on this class, so he came up with a list of things to look for. Things that his own advisor sought out when placing Peeta in the position he's in today.

9am ticks into place on his watch and he begins, forgoing the attendance sheet for today.

"Good morning. I trust you all figured out if this class is worth the hell I'm going to put you through?" He smiles brightly and is met with a few from his students, groans from others, and indifferent looks from a few familiar faces. One of which sits at the far back and tries not to make eye contact. _So it's gonna be like that today_ , he affirms to himself.

"Great!" he claps, then turns the projector on. He dives headfirst into the lecture with a few jokes thrown in. Oddly enough, for as hard as this class is going to be for his students, he notices quite a few faces concentrating on his words, both on-screen and what he's actually saying.

"It's important for everyone here to realise that Physical Therapy isn't just patching people up. If you go on to grad school and start the path towards earning a DPT, you're going to be more than just your typical doc. Sure, they get paid the big bucks, but _you_ get to play the big leagues. Literally."

Peeta earns a few more smiles and laughs before 9:50 rolls around. A few students call out a parting comment as they're heading out, while the rest push forward to their next classes. He has a feeling he'll like teaching more than he anticipated.

As he's gathering his briefcase up, a sharp throat clearing has him glancing up.

"Katniss," he breathes, and then catches himself. He smiles as though nothing is amiss. "What can I do for you?"

She eyes him for a bit before nibbling on her lower lip. Looking down at the podium, her fingernail catches on a scratch. "I thought we should set some facts straight," she starts, pausing only to take a breath and meet his eyes, "before things go any further."

He can't say he knows exactly what "things" she means, but she's explaining before he has a chance to say anything.

"Maybe... maybe I don't want to pretend, either." If she says anything else, Peeta doesn't hear another word. All he does is stare at her as her lips move, the memory of them on his skin vivid and entirely inappropriate given their location.

He shakes himself and holds up a hand to stop her. "Look, maybe I was hasty before. I don't think it's right for us to —"

Katniss' lips cut him off and he sucks in a startled breath, his hands going to her shoulders. To pull her closer or push her away, he's not sure.

Whatever else would have happened is cut off with a thud and whisper of paper, a series of numbers scrawled on the scrap the only thing he can focus on, because she's turned away and running off before he can catch up with his heart.

Peeta fiddles with the edges of the scrap for hours until he decides to do something about these warring feelings. This can't keep up, or he'll lose his train of thought in the middle of a class, or worse, lose his mind entirely. She's intoxicating all of his senses, whether she realises it or not.

And she gave him an in that he's still unsure what to do with.

His fingers fly over the digital keypad before he can back-pedal.

"Yeah?" he hears on the other end, her crisp accent throwing him off for a second.

"Katniss? It's Peeta."

That same silence from the first day of class. Only this time, he can hear the suggestion in her voice as she says, "Tonight at 10, your place. We need to talk."

He nods, then follows up with a verbal affirmative. His blue eyes slide to the clock on his desk, the numbers reading a bright orange 8:17.

The meagre amount of clean-up he has to do in the apartment is followed up with a cold shower, his hands straying as far from the tingling between his legs as he can muster. Icy water pours down his front in an attempt to dash that tingling, but all it does is raise goose bumps across his body and make the skin of his balls tighter.

"Fuck," he curses into the wall, his forehead pressed up against the tile. A few more minutes of harsh scrubbing leave his skin a blotchy pink, the tightness abating once he gives in to the urge and jerks himself off fast and hard. At least this way he won't be tempted to do anything stupid, even if she initiates like she did in the classroom.

A faint aroma wafts into the bathroom while he dries and brushes his teeth. With a pale orange towel wrapped snugly against his hips, Peeta pads barefoot across the worn wood to check on the dinner he'd set in the oven an hour ago. The cheese casserole is sizzling and browned just enough, so he turns the heat off and puts the glass dish under the exhaust.

He's just reaching for utensils and a plate when the knock sounds at his door. Pale brows wrinkle as he looks up at the kitchen clock: 9:35.

If it's Katniss, she's early. He's just wondering if the front gate to the apartment complex was left open as he gets the door.

"Hi, sorry if I'm —" she says, pauses to take in his barely clothed state, and smirks as she continues, "early. Guess I caught you off-guard?"

Peeta gives her a smile of his own and runs a hand through his wet hair. "Yeah, little bit. Wanna come in? I was just about to eat some dinner."

He leaves the door open as he turns back to the kitchen. The soft click of his lock lets him know she chose to accept the invitation, her steps lightly tracing his own into the kitchen. She's eyeing everything from the kitchen island to the counters, finally landing on the casserole he sets in the middle of the island.

"It's three-cheese pasta casserole. I've got more than enough if you want some," he offers over his shoulder, fingers wrapping around a bottle of Pinot Noir. She nods her assent and he's laying out all of the necessities before telling her to dig in.

"I've just gotta change, be right back. Have some wine if you'd like. It goes great with that dish."

In his bedroom, he leans against the door and steadies his breathing. Everywhere she laid her eyes on him is tingling again, as if that earlier attention he paid to himself never happened. He's wound tighter than he's been since high school and his first piss-poor attempt at asking a girl to Homecoming dance. _Get it together, Mellark_ , he tells himself. The little pep talk is repeated over in his head as he puts on a plain tee and basketball shorts, like this is a casual night that will lead to absolutely nowhere. Because it _can't_. And it won't, he reassures himself. She just wants to talk.

Back in the kitchen, he notices that she's scooped herself a small portion of casserole and popped open the wine, but she hasn't poured any yet.

"It won't bite, I promise," he jokes, pulling the bottle over to her glass at her small nod. When they're both half-full, they clank glasses, which reminds him of that night at the bar.

A cold sweat starts on his forehead.

They eat in silence. Nothing less than he expected from her. She seems to only expend energy on words when absolutely necessary. In a way it rekindles some memories from a long time ago. She never was very talkative, if memory served.

"So, what did you want to discuss?" he ventures, needing to break the silence some way. The anticipation of her words are driving him up a wall in more ways than one.

Katniss continues chewing slowly, as though she's thinking hard about what she has to say. After a slow swallow of wine, she swirls the deep red liquid in the glass, her gaze trained on the patterns clinging to the insides of the glass.

"You're a pretty good cook. I never would have thought." Her voice is coupled with a smile that she levels on him before returning her eyes to the wine.

Peeta's about to thank her, but then she clears her throat and he sits quietly for her to continue. "I suppose with how you used your hands on me, I should have guessed."

He has to stop chewing because _did she really just say that?_ He's about to ask her what she's doing, why she wants to play this game, when her piercing gaze settles on him and burns the words right out of his mind. He has to take a deep swallow of the wine to keep from choking.

"Okay, let's cut to the chase, Katniss," he grounds out when he's sure his voice won't break. "You're not about to tell me something good. I can tell by the way you're sitting defensively and look like you're about to swallow me whole, so let's be adults and talk."

"You're right," she agrees, sitting up from the island and turning her back as she continues, "because like you said, we _shouldn't_. I didn't piece it together until you touched me that night. It felt like you were worshipping something from a long time ago, like you had some memory you couldn't let go of." Katniss turns back to him, coming up way too close, their breaths practically mingling inches in front of his face. "I remember you, you know. And I know that you remember me."

 _Fuck_ , is all he can think. _Fuck fuck fuck_. "Katniss..." But he's cut off by her lips pressing against his, her hands tangling in his shirt at his stomach, already hiking the material up so she can touch his skin.

All sense flies out the damn window at her touch. He's completely undone, falling apart at the seams with each second that her lips mould themselves to his.

Peeta's hands draw her in closer, their tongues touching and wrapping around each other, the taste of wine heady and whispering dark, sweet things in his mind.

When her hands lift from his chest and go up, up past the shirt bunched at his armpits and across his neck, up into his hair and her fingers wrap themselves so tightly in the wet strands, Peeta grabs a solid hold of her hips and lifts her up just like that night. Their kiss doesn't break, getting deeper and louder with each step he takes, but they don't head for the bedroom this time.

Katniss lets out an _ooph_ when her back falls into the couch, Peeta's knees framing her hips as he tosses his shirt off into the living room. Her fingertips stroke the outline of his pectorals, nails lightly scratching down and causing him to suck his breath in when she skims over his abs. He leans back down to pull her bottom lip into his mouth like she'd done before. She's moaning loud enough for him to shudder at the sound, his tongue laving the bitten surface of her lip he noticed that she likes to chew on.

This time when his fingers trace over her clothing, helping her get rid of it piece by piece, he knows exactly who he's doing this to. He commits every exposed surface of skin to memory.

They're both naked when they stop simultaneously, like they'd wordlessly planned it. Her eyes graze across his body, while his watch her doing so. He feels like he should be unsettled by the intensity he sees there, but for some reason, he's oddly at peace. Of course, his stomach is roiling with anticipation and even nerves — the physical evidence straining from between his legs — and yet, Peeta feels like he could die a happy man right then and there. It's strange, the things she churns up in him.

"Touch me," she whispers then, her eyes finally meeting his. He reaches out for her as she does the same, and they're both moaning into each other's mouths as their fingers dance across naked flesh.

In one move, she pushes up and twists them around so she's sitting astride his hips, her bare centre rubbing wetly down his thighs. He reaches for her, but she ducks down and he curses when her lips wrap around the head of his cock. She takes her time, running the tip of her tongue down the underside of his shaft, then back up, wrapping decadently around the head like she's sucking on a lollipop. The smirk she gives him from around his engorged flesh is enough to make him buck up into her mouth.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows they should stop. They need to talk, like she suggested, but actually breaking this up to do so feels like it's impossible. So he lets himself ride the wave steadily rising from his core.

"Katniss," he whispers, his fingers combing through the hair that's come loose around her face. Her own fingers tease up and down his cock, tracing the head when her mouth pops off with an obscene sound. She pumps him in time with his hips' up-and-down motion, bringing him so close, _so damn close_ , and then slowing down to cup his balls and roll them in her palm.

"Sit up a little," she tells him, hands still busy with his erection. She grips the shaft with one while the other scratches light designs into the head, making him flinch from the pain-pleasure she's inducing.

Peeta's back settles against the arm of the couch with a heavy exhale. She's making his head swim in all the best ways, but he itches to touch her and feel that wetness.

"C'mere," he whispers, reaching out for her. Katniss' smile is almost predatory as she climbs up his body.

His hands find her breasts and knead both to the tune of her contented sigh. Like a purring kitten, she runs her hands across his chest and lightly digs her fingers into the muscle, touching everything in her path. He's so caught up, he doesn't realise how close she gets her middle to his. He just relishes the wetness left behind on his thighs, the cool air leaving behind familiar tingles.

Katniss shimmies her hips left and right when his fingers pinch her nipples. The raised peaks beckon him forward. He sucks one into his mouth while he pinches and twists the other, prompting her to pull him closer. Little sighs fill the air, softer this time, less rushed than before. His free hand squeezes her left ass cheek, pulling and kneading as she continues to squirm. A little trickle from her core slips down his stomach. He wants to be inside her so badly, he tugs harder on her nipples, wordlessly inciting her movements.

He wants to say something, ask if they can go further. Seeing his jaw flex, Katniss leans in to steal a kiss, her tongue already thrusting into his mouth when she raises up. The next second, her hand goes behind her and she's pushing down, her walls enveloping his erection fully.

The wave of heat and tight pressure makes Peeta stop breathing. His eyes snap open and he pulls back, the only rational thought left in mind blurting out:

"But I didn't put on a co —" Her mouth quiets him, capturing the groan he lets out when she squeezes his cock before rising up.

The only sounds after that are so similar to that night. Grunts at the harsh rhythm she sets, groans when she twists and circles her hips while riding him. Peeta anchors himself to earth by the sharp curves of her hipbones.

Their kisses turn needier and more aggressive each time Katniss lifts up and drops back down, squeezing and releasing his cock in the most heavenly way. Her teeth nip his lips like she does her own when she's thinking too hard. He nips back, the kiss turning into clashing teeth and lips.

She guides his movements, aiming the swelling head right where she needs it. Peeta drops a hand to her centre and strokes her clit with quick little circles. She groans so high and long that he's sure she's about to pass out, but she keeps riding him, faster and harder, his own hips lifting to help her find completion. They're recklessly driving forward in search of each other's climax, and soon, she's gasping out, squeezing her eyes shut as he keeps bucking up into her, clenching his jaw as she repeatedly clenches against his driving cock.

He falls not long after, holding her steady when she's about to fall onto his chest. A few thrusts later, he groans in satisfaction, the warmth coating her insides and making them both shudder when he's done.

Their meals have long gone cold, the wine forgotten on the kitchen island, as is their talk.

Like last time, his eyelids are heavy in their threat to fall shut.

"Katniss, we still need to talk," he murmurs against her ear. Her chest rises and falls against his, hand covering over his heart. She nods and presses a kiss there, murmuring back:

"Next time. I promise."

 _Next time_ , he repeats to himself. Somehow, he thinks there won't be much talking next time, either, but he lets that thought fall away for now.

**Author's Note:**

> My limited personal experience of the campus and Huntington, WV boils down to the week I stayed at Marshall while dating a girl there. Lots of fun though, trust me.
> 
> Title named after a song by Birdy; no copyright infringement intended.


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